


pretty girls come from the ugliest places (you come from the worst of them all)

by serenitysea



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, Banter, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:07:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6310885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenitysea/pseuds/serenitysea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>five times ward saw skye fall apart (and the one time he didn't.)</p><p>*</p><p>just before he’s disappeared from view, ward leans down and cocks an eyebrow at her. “you coming?”</p><p>skye scrambles to her feet. “thought we were talking strategy?”</p><p>“yeah.” he grins for about half a second. “the kind where i make pancakes and you figure out how to keep fitz from knowing and eating the rest of them.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	pretty girls come from the ugliest places (you come from the worst of them all)

**Author's Note:**

> well. it's not as terribly sad as you think it might be.

i. ( _post-pink dress debacle_.)

she’s been running since the crack of dawn (or so it seems). anything to take her mind off of those guys with the guns and how _real_ it had felt to know that she’d narrowly escaped with her life – and wouldn’t have done so at all if it hadn’t been for one particularly tenacious and overbearing SO. 

“take a breather.” 

ward’s voice startles her so badly that she loses her footing and winds up falling to the ground. 

her face flushes red with humiliation as she tries to keep the hot tears from springing free. 

“hey.” 

skye opens her eyes to see a white towel all but obscuring her vision. 

“dry off,” ward gruffly suggests, while he keeps his eyes carefully averted, allowing her privacy. “we’ll practice strategy for the rest of the morning.”

she somehow manages to hold in the sigh that wants to break free – which is good, because it’d probably turn out to be more like a _sob_ at this rate – when he turns on his heel and marches up the stairs. 

just before he’s disappeared from view, ward leans down and cocks an eyebrow at her. “you coming?”

skye scrambles to her feet. “thought we were talking strategy?” 

“yeah.” he grins for about half a second. “the kind where i make pancakes and you figure out how to keep fitz from knowing and eating the rest of them.”

 

ii. ( _post-miracle drug rescue_.)

she’s been struggling with her hair for a good two minutes. 

ever since simmons ordered straight up bed rest (which was _so dumb_ who the hell needed bed rest anyway?) she had been trying to figure out a way to feel like she actually had some _control_ over her life, instead of this helpless _frustration_ that just seemed to sap her of what little energy she found. 

which accounts for her current dilemma: the snarl of knots that her hair has become since narrowly escaping with her life after the miracle drug that they had risked _everything for_ gave her a second chance. 

knowing you shouldn’t be alive while you fought back tears because you didn’t have the upper body strength to remain stable since recovering from _bullet holes_ in your core – not the easiest thing to table. 

skye angrily fights back tears and grabs the rest of her hair, intending to drag a brush through it – only to find the brush missing. 

“looking for something?” ward’s eyes are kind, trying to lighten the moment as he holds up the hairbrush. 

skye tries to rally with a sarcastic comment. “didn’t know you went for the extra bristles, but maybe that pretty boy hair needs some extra love.” 

“skye.” he gestures for her to lay back against the pillows. “if you pull a stitch or so much as _breathe_ funny, you know simmons is going to have your _head_.” 

“simmons has biochem _princess_ hair,” she mutters sullenly. 

“you have… nice hair.” he’s still so hopelessly awkward. 

she snorts and has to give him points for trying. “at best, i’m a strong contender for survivor chic.”

the movement of the brush gently combing through her hair is what ultimately does it. he doesn’t even pull on too many knots; just snags on one unexpectedly and she’s suddenly flooded with tears in her eyes and sniffling away like some _watering pot_ and _dear god this is so embarrassing –_

_–_ but somehow, ward just rolls with it. he’s content to comb through the rest and neatly gather it together in a quick braid. it isn’t the prettiest, but it isn’t the worst, either. 

when she’s dried her eyes and can look at him with shock clearly radiating outward, he chuckles. 

“i have a younger sister.” 

as if that explains everything. as if that suddenly makes it _totally normal_ that her dorky SO just came in and braided her hair like it was no big deal and completely ignored the way tears leaked from her eyes. 

“thanks.” her voice is small and somehow unsure, like this has changed everything. 

“if you tell anyone what happened,” ward begins, his tone mild, “i’ll have to kill you.” 

she smiles for the first time all day – and just like that – the universe snaps back into place. 

 

iii. ( _providence base jitters_.)

he comes through the door, battered and weary. 

he comes through the door, battered and weary but he’s _alive_ and he’s _safe_ and skye has to physically restrain herself from launching into his arms and holding him closer. 

something has changed between them; the air is different now. it’s charged with this kind of _awareness_ , like they aren’t dancing around the attraction anymore that it’s been forced into the open (in a _storage closet_ , of all places) and she’s so happy just knowing that he _made_ it is enough to make tears of relief spring to her eyes. 

skye muffles the thankful sob against her hand and orders herself to pull it together. 

ward, of course, is not completely without powers of observation and takes in her slowed progress and heaving breaths with a small amount of panic. 

“hey.” he glances down the hall before tugging her out of sight and around the corner. “you okay?”

and maybe it’s survivor’s guilt or the pressure of everything from the past few days or the fact that hey all just narrowly escaped with their lives, but – she’s dragging a hand across her eyes and trying to smile at him reassuringly – falling apart is the _last_ thing she wants to do and ward isn’t exactly the type to fall for helpless damsels in distress. she doesn’t want to do this in front of him, she doesn’t want to be a hot mess express, she doesn’t want to – 

he pulls her against his side gingerly for a weird sort of half-hug, half sheltering form of comfort. 

and she has to laugh because honestly, who else is grant douglas ward if not a total nerd with a complete lack of chill or any apparent level of suave and here he is, trying to make _her_ feel better, when – 

he chokes slightly and skye realises that she’s been subconsciously hugging him tightly. 

“sorry.” she mumbles, ducking her head. 

“it’s fine.” his face is slightly grayer around the edges as he hurries to reassure her. “just pretty sure i have a bruise there.” 

(turns out he has a few cracked _ribs_ , but hey. no big deal, right? he prefers to mask his pain in front of beautiful women, anyway.)

“we’d better get you to simmons, then.” 

ward remains stubbornly in place. “you okay?” 

“i am now,” skye answers truthfully, releasing a grateful breath. 

he’s _alive.  
_

that’s all that matters now. 

the rest can wait. 

 

iv. ( _vault d and all the secrets_.)

there is no _i should have told you what it feels like to take a life_. 

there is no _i wish i’d known how empty the aftermath leaves you_. 

there is no kind of apology or explanation. 

she just sits in the chair and stares unseeingly. 

ward offers no words in return; not because he’s being difficult or obstinate. no. because he realises just how fragile her composure is in _this_ moment, how she’s grasping at straws simply to hang on. 

how the kindest word from him will _break her_. 

he offers silence. 

and she takes it (and takes it and _takes it_ ) until the time is up and the load that she’s carrying resettles on her shoulders and makes her steps heavy as she ascends back into the activity of the playground. 

the vault is a place for secrets. (and she’s just laid one at his feet.)

 

v. ( _puerto rico_.)

ward’s got one hand on her back and she’s handcuffed and –

– part of her wants to just start laughing uncontrollably. 

_this_ is how she meets her father? at the hands of her pseudo ex-boyfriend, after being kidnapped and taken to a hydra base and _could things possibly get any worse_? she honestly _does not know_. 

the entire situation is so incredibly insane that can’t help a few strangled chuckles making it through her gritted teeth – if she doesn’t laugh, she’s likely to break out into some exhausted form of hysterics – and skye pretends like it doesn’t make her feel a little better when his grip tightens infinitesimally. 

nothing about him should ground her, nothing about him should make _sense_. and somehow, in some twisted way – this does. 

her eyes _burn_ with the sting of tears that don’t all get absorbed back as they walk up and through the hydra base. 

everything about this makes her want to scream. 

ward delivers her into the room where her father sits, and she has to blink back hot tears of rage (she doesn’t even know who they’re directed towards at this point) when he leaves the room. 

skye stiffly takes a seat on the couch and fervently wishes she were _anywhere_ else. 

 

iv. ( _they told me you were dead._ )

it’s fitz who finds her. 

she’s spent the better part of six months answering to a different name, parceling her emotions out like they’re currency to be carefully protected and sold to the highest bidder, training to protect people while trying to do everything possible to _never_ become her mother – and when fitz looks at her with _that_ look in his eyes, she doesn’t feel like _daisy_. 

she feels like _skye_. 

and fitz? _well_. 

fitz has been quiet ever since he and coulson came back from maveth. 

he won’t meet anyone’s eyes and he shies away even from jemma, and he keeps his distance from the team. 

but he catches her staring from across the room and lifts his chin ever so slightly and she has no choice but to take her leave and follow him to the abandoned meeting room down the hall. 

“i didn’t…” he trails off as she enters the room, and she wills herself not to rush him. he’s come so far after so long – she’s so proud of him – that she can soften her edges around him. it’s safe with fitz in a way that it hasn’t been with anyone else for a very long time. 

“it was coulson.” the words come spitting out of his mouth like bullets. 

she takes a step back from the vehemence with which he speaks. “what are you talking about?” 

“he killed ward.” immediately after confessing the truth, fitz looks simultaneously _lighter_ and heavier; like some kind of bizarre set of weighted scales ever in danger of tipping the balance and never quite finding a level calm. “he crushed his ribs and –” 

she throws a hand up sharply and the door flies shut behind him, startling fitz into silence. with a shaky breath, she’s slow to meet his eyes. “i’m gonna need a minute.” 

coulson told them all that ward had died on the planet, that it had been due to unavoidable circumstances, that he couldn’t have been saved. 

“couldn’t be saved,” she all but laughs quietly to herself – the sound ugly and broken. “i’ll just bet.”

fitz moves as if to comfort her in some way, like he wants to come closer and offer any kind of condolence, but she shakes her head and instead clears her throat of the emotion clogging it. she pastes on the brightest smile she can muster (which is honestly six kinds of pathetic) and gives him a passing squeeze on the arm as she exits. 

“thanks for telling me.” 

the view is blurry as she navigates the corridors with tears that _do not fall_ and a heaviness in her heart that she cannot explain. 

she makes it to her room before she completely falls apart. 

sometimes grief is a raging wildfire; brutal and destructive and ruthlessly taking down everything in its path. 

but more often it’s like a slow dripping poison; quietly sapping life away while it feeds on whatever it can to shear through until there is nothing left but decay in its wake. 

she cries until it feels like there is nothing left. 

_for whatever reason, ward never lied to me_. 

and then –

– she cries some more. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> \+ [tumblr]().  
> \+ title comes from matt hires' _restless heart_.


End file.
